Though 'twas no table some suppose, But a huge pair of round trunk-hose, In which he carry'd as much meat As he and all the knights could eat,
When, laying by their swords and truncheons, 345 They took their breakfasts or their nuncheons. But let that pass at present, lest
We should forget where we digrest, As learned authors use, to whom We leave it, and to th' purpose come. His puissant sword unto his side, Near his undaunted heart, was tied, With basket-hit that would hold broth, And serve for fight and dinner both In it he melted lead for bullets To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, To whom he bore so fell a grutch, He ne'er gave quarter t' any such.
It had devoured, 'twas so manful, And so much scorn'd to lurk in case, As if it durst not show its face.
In many desperate attempts Of warrants, exigents, contempts, It had appear'd with courage bolder Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder: Oft had it ta'en possession, And pris'ners too, or made them run.
This sword a dagger had, his page, That was but little for his age, And therefore waited on him so As dwarfs upon knights-errant do. It was a serviceable dudgeon, Either for fighting or for drudging: When it had stabb'd, or broke a head, It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread; Toast cheese or bacon; though it were To bate a mouse-trap, 'twould not care: "Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth Set leeks and onions, and so forth: It had been 'prentice to a brewer, Where this and more it did endure, But left the trade as many more Have lately done on the same score.
In th' holsters at his saddle-bow Two aged pistols he did stow, Among the surplus of such meat As in his hose he could not get: These would inveigle rats with th' scent, To forage when the cocks were bent, And sometimes catch 'em with a snap, As cleverly as th' ablest trap. They were upon hard duty still,
And every night stood sentinel,
To guard the magazine i' th' hose
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes. Thus clad and fortify'd Sir Knight
From peaceful home set forth to fight. But first with nimble active force He got on th' outside of his horse: For having but one stirrup ty'd T' his saddle on the further side, VOL. I.
orporal Ayon fan
rink, and hold out faire l
It was so short h' had much ado To reach it with his desp'rate toe;
But after many strains and heaves, He got up to the saddle-eaves,
From whence he vaulted into th' seat
With so much vigour, strength, and heat, That he had almost tumbled over
With his own weight, but did recover
By laying hold on tail and mane,
Which oft he us'd instead of rein.
But now we talk of mounting steed, Before we further do proceed, It doth behove us to say something Of that which bore our valiant Bumkin. The beast was sturdy, large, and tall, With mouth of meal and eyes of wall, I would say eye, for h' had but one, As most agree, though some say none. He was well stay'd, and in his gate Preserv'd a grave, majestic state; At spur or switch no more he skipt Or mended pace than Spaniard whipt," And yet so fiery, he would bound As if he griev'd to touch the ground; That Cæsar's horse, who, as fame goes,
Had corns upon his feet and toes, 36.
Was not by half so tender hooft,
Nor trod upon the ground so soft: And as that beast would kneel and stoop (Some write) to take his rider up; So Hudibras his ('tis well known) Would often do to set him down.
We shall not need to say what lack Of leather was upon his back,
For that was hidden under pad,
And breech of Knight gall'd full as bad. His strutting ribs on both sides show'd Like furrows he himself had plough'd; For underneath the skirt of pannel, 'Twixt ev'ry two there was a channel. His draggling tail hung in the dirt, Which on his rider he would flirt, Still as his tender side he prickt, With arm'd heel, or with unarm'd, For Hudibras wore but one spur, As wisely knowing could he stir To active trot one side of 's horse, The other would not hang an arse.
A Squire he had whose name was Ralph, That in th' adventure went his half, Though writers, for more stately tone, Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one;
And when we can, with metre safe, We'll call him so; if not, plain Ralph;
(For rhyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses): An equal stock of wit and valour
He had laid in, by birth a tailor.
The mighty Tyrian queen, that gain'd
With subtle shreds a tract of land, Did leave it with a castle fair
To his great ancestor, her heir;
457 Sir Roger L'Estrange (‘Key to Hudibras') says, this famous Squire was one Isaac Robinson, a zealous butcher in Moorfields, who was always contriving some new querpo cut in church government: but, in a Key' at the end of a burlesque poem of Mr. Butler's, 1706, in folio, p. 12, it is observed, That Hudibras's Squire was one Pemble, a tailor, and one of the Committee of Sequestrators."
From him descended cross-legg'd knights, V Fam'd for their faith and warlike fights Against the bloody Cannibal,
Whom they destroy'd both great and small. This sturdy Squire he had, as well
gard As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell, hat! $75.
Not with a counterfeited pass
Of golden bough, but true gold-lace: His knowledge was not far behind The Knight's, but of another kind, And he another way came by 't, Some call it Gifts, and some New-light; A lib'ral art, that costs no pains Of study, industry, or brains. His wit was sent him for a token,
But in the carriage crack'd and broken; Like commendation nine-pence crookt With-To and from my love-it lookt. He ne'er consider'd it, as loth To look a gift-horse in the mouth, And very wisely would lay forth No more upon it than 'twas worth; But as he got it freely, so
He spent it frank and freely too:
For saints themselves will sometimes be, Of gifts that cost them nothing, free. By means of this, with hem and cough,
485 VAR. His wits were sent him.'
487 488 Until the year 1696, when all money, not milled, was called in, a ninepenny piece of silver was as common as sixpences or shillings, and these ninepences were usually bent as sixpences commonly are now, which bending was called, To my love and from my love; and such pinepences the ordinary fellows gave or sent to their sweethearts as tokens of love.
on thisabeth's miting is not wygr is such a purpose the cow'ne. consort Alwill we
« PreviousContinue » |